


Loaded

by phoenixflight



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, First Time, Gun Kink, M/M, Masturbation, Misunderstandings, Pre-Canon, Weecest, discussion of suicide, kink and feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-06
Updated: 2020-04-06
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:20:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23514550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phoenixflight/pseuds/phoenixflight
Summary: Sometimes Sam likes to jerk off with Dean's gun in his mouth. It's not a big deal. He just never meant for Dean to catch him like that.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Comments: 20
Kudos: 339





	Loaded

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Some Really Good Ways](https://archiveofourown.org/works/217454) by [BewareTheIdes15](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BewareTheIdes15/pseuds/BewareTheIdes15). 



> I was reading BewareTheIdes's excellent gunplay weecest and couldn't stop thinking about what would Dean would have assumed if the reveal had gone slightly differently.

It started some time the year Sam turned 14, when puberty hit him like a freight train and suddenly _everything_ made him think of sex. He was cleaning the guns alone one Saturday afternoon, and the stroking motion of his hand along the barrel made him sympathetically hard. Dean and Dad were gone researching something, he had the motel room to himself. It was dirty, dangerous - against everything he’d had drilled into him about guns since before he could walk - and it made his blood spark all the more because of that. After all, it wasn’t the first thing he’d wanted that was against everything he’d been taught. 

Compared to having wet dreams about his big brother, rubbing a gun on his dick didn’t seem like that big a deal. He ended up jerking off with his hand wrapped around both his dick and the barrel of the gun together. He came spectacularly all over the table and the floor and the guns he’d just cleaned. 

That was how it started. 

It became a semi-regular thing. His life was fucked up, he was used to it. It was just one of those things, like when the spark of pain from a fresh bruise made him hard or when he fingered himself in the shower imagining it was Dean, or when he woke up in a shared bed with his aching morning wood snugged up against his brother’s hard on, both of them rutting against one another and pretending to still be asleep. Not a big deal. 

Sometimes, when it was his turn to clean the weapons and he had the rare luxury of privacy, he’d take the time to enjoy himself. One rainy weekend in a crappy apartment outside Pittsburgh, Dad was gone two states east for the week and Dean had a double shift at the garage where he was picking up under the table work. Sam had been left with their arsenal, and an itch to scratch. 

He stripped all the guns one by one, doing the work first before play, enjoying the hot buzz of anticipation rising in his blood. Anybody watching would have been proud of his efficiency, but definitely not proud of what he was about to do next. 

Sam picked up the last gun, his favorite. It was Dean’s Colt .45, nickel plated with an ivory handle. Flashy, like something a gangster might have carried during Prohibition. Holding it was like holding a little piece of Dean’s swagger. Sam checked the chamber twice even though he knew it was empty because he’d just cleaned it, cock already chubbing up in his jeans. 

It was older than Sam’s Taurus, the barrel more evenly shaped - more _organically_ shaped - about as thick as three of Sam’s fingers, or two of Dean’s. That mental calculation featured prominently in his fantasies of the gun. Wrapping one hand around the grip and using the other to pull his shirt up, Sam dragged the muzzle down his chest. The shock of the chill metal made his stomach muscles jump, dick twitching against his zipper. His heart was hammering already. 

He teased the barrel against the waistband of his jeans, and then brought it slowly back up, tip brushing over one nipple which hardened with the shock of arousal and cold combined. Sam moaned and pinched at the other, hips jolting helplessly. 

If he unfocused his eyes and squinted a little he could pretend it was someone else’s hand holding the gun. Dean would never, ever hurt him, never threaten him with anything worse than extra drills or the second shower, but it made Sam dizzy to imagine his brother with his hand wrapped around the Colt, ordering Sam to his knees, voice low and growly and meaning business.

Sam, standing beside the bed, sank down to kneel on the mattress. Somehow, in Dean’s hand, the danger of the weapon transformed into something about protection and possession. The gun was Dean’s, Sam was Dean’s. Sam was so hard it hurt. 

Bringing the Colt up to his face, Sam rubbed his cheek against the slide, imagining nuzzling the base of Dean’s cock the same way. The sharp, acrid smell of gunpowder filled his nostrils. It was a smell from his earliest memories, of safety and home. One-handed, he popped the button on his jeans, too impatient to get them off, just shoving them down enough to pull his cock out, precome smearing on his hand and his underwear. 

He thumbed the safety off and the soft click made his balls tighten, even though the gun wasn’t loaded. He was panting, open mouthed and hungry. His tongue flicked out, feeling the delicate filigree on the plated barrel, tasting fresh gun oil. Letting the weight of the Colt press his mouth further open, imaging Dean standing over him, Sam slid the muzzle of the gun directly into his mouth. 

The taste of salt and soot burst on his tongue and he closed his eyes, moaning. His spine tingled with the bone-deep terror of having a firearm aimed point-blank at his brainpan, and that sensation coiled at the base of his cock, making him throb. Closing his lips around the barrel, he sucked sloppily, holding the gun by the grip and thrusting it in and out shallowly. 

The metal grew rapidly warm in his mouth, spit and gun oil making the barrel slick between his lips. The Colt's barrel was heavy on his tongue as he slid it further back, feeling the muscles in his throat flutter and spasm. He'd suck Dean's cock just like this, if he could. 

His dick was throbbing, leaking against his stomach, balls aching with how hard he was going to come when Dean’s voice bellowed. _“Sammy! NO.”_

Shocked, Sam choked on the barrel, barely able to draw it out of his mouth before his brother tackled him squarely in the chest, bearing him down on the bed with Dean on top. The gun flew out of Sam’s hand, clattering against the nightstand. 

“Jesus, Sam, Jesus fucking Christ, you can’t, you can’t.” Dean was shuddering on top of him, voice wrecked. 

“Dean!” Sam squeaked. His brother was holding him down solidly, his nose full of Dean’s hair, and Sam’s dick was caught between mortified wilting and arousal at Dean’s proximity. 

“Sammy. God.” Dean’s face was pressed into Sam’s neck, damp and hot. His body convulsed again and Sam realized with a sick shock that Dean was crying. 

“Dean,” he managed again, “I’m not… I wasn’t…” 

“It’ll be okay, Sammy,” Dean babbled. “Whatever it is, we can fix it. I’ll do anything, god, Sam, anything.”

Sam couldn’t smother a hysterical laugh, imagining the solutions Dean might come up with for any of the myriad of problems in Sam’s life. 

Dean lifted his head, eyes red and wet. “Sammy, _please_ .” His voice broke, and Sam felt his own chest constrict painfully. “Please don’t, you can’t, you can’t leave me. Tell me what’s wrong and I’ll fix it, just _please don’t_ …” 

“I was jerking off!” Sam yelled. 

Dean blinked at him, frightened and disoriented. “What?” They were still chest to chest, close enough that Sam could see how Dean’s eyelashes were damp and clumped together with tears. Sam’s cock was soft again but it still ached, oversensitive, chafing against Dean’s pants through Sam’s open fly. Dean had been so distracted he hadn’t even noticed Sam had his dick out. 

Sam’s cheeks burned. “I was jerking off,” he bit out. “With the gun. It’s not even loaded. I wasn’t gonna… It wasn’t what it looked like.” 

“You were jerking off,” Dean repeated slowly, as if testing the words. 

“Yeah.” Sam squirmed with humiliation, and Dean lifted up a little. Sam’s wrists were going to be bruised for a week where Dean had grabbed him, and Sam knew he would be jerking off again later while poking at them.

Sitting back on his heels, Dean took a better look at him, eyes catching obviously on Sam’s open zipper. “Huh.” He leaned over and retrieved the gun from where it had spun away, checked the magazine and the chamber. The soft clicking sounds of the mechanisms and the sight of Dean’s quick capable hands made Sam’s dick twitch again. Dean was moving slowly, dazed. “Guess you were.” He was still sitting on Sam’s thighs, weight pinning him down. Sam breathed shallowly, wondering what was next. 

Dean turned the gun over in his hands several times, not checking it for damage but as if he’d never seen it before. When he finally looked up at Sam, his eyes were still glistening, and so sober and honest it terrified Sam. “I couldn’t…If you… I’d be done, you know that, right?” he said quietly. 

In one 7th grade science class, Sam had seen a teacher put a marshmallow in a bell jar and induce a vacuum state. The marshmallow had swelled rapidly and then imploded on itself. It felt like Sam’s heart was doing the same thing, expanding and crushing itself practically at once inside the vacuum of his ribs. “Dean?” he whispered.

“If you offed yourself,” Dean clarified, deliberately harsh, “I’d be done too.” 

“Dean,” Sam breathed, pushing himself up on one arm, reaching for his brother with the other, and Dean’s warm, broad palm was cradling his head, drawing him in, golden eyelashes dipping over freckled cheeks, Sam’s hand scrabbling at Dean’s shoulder, pulling him closer, straining up toward his big brother, and then they were kissing. 

Their lips slid together, messy and desperate, sending electric shocks through Sam’s body. He tried to use both hands to pull at Dean and ended up toppling them both back onto the bed. They rolled together, legs tangled, clutching at one another. The feel of Dean’s cock growing against his hip was familiar from silent mornings beneath the covers, but Dean’s mouth on his was a revelation. Sam was on fire, feeling scorched all over as if any second his skin would burn away leaving raw nerve endings for his brother to touch. 

When Dean pulled away, Sam whined pitifully, humping against his thigh. They were both panting. “You were jerking off with my gun in your mouth?” Dean asked, short of breath. “Why?” 

All the blood in Sam’s body was in his dick, and it took several long seconds to put together a response. “I like it.” 

Dean made a frustrated sound, breath tickling Sam’s clavicle. “Why?” 

“I don’t know! I just do. I like that it’s yours, and that it’s dangerous, I guess.” He’d done some reading a couple of school libraries ago about Freud and phallic symbols, but he figured Dean had a good instinctive grasp of the concept without the psychobabble. “I… pretend it’s you using it on me,” he admitted, blushing. 

Dean considered that for a long moment. “Show me? _Not_ in your mouth,” he added sharply. 

Curling his fingers around the Colt’s grip felt newly charged with Dean watching. Sam pushed his pants and boxers down around his thighs and rubbed the tip of the gun through his pubes, the sight at the end of the barrel pressing pointedly against the base of his cock. He heard Dean exhale unsteadily. 

“You like that? That turn you on?” Dean’s voice was velvet and gravel, and it made Sam shudder, cock pulsing. 

“Yes,” he gasped. Changing his grip, he lined the barrel of the Colt up with his shaft, rubbing the length of his cock against the barrel and the slide, the way he had the very first time. He thrust against the cool, unyielding friction, fucking his cock and the gun together through the circle of his fist. 

“You think about me when you do this?” Dean growled, and Sam nodded helplessly, eyes closed and mouth open. “Pretending it’s me teasing you with my gun? Or pretending it’s my cock you’re rubbing against?” Dean had his own pants unzipped now, stroking himself. 

Another hard shudder struck Sam, precome dribbling from the tip of his dick, smearing the barrel. “B-both.” 

“I will,” Dean whispered against the shell of Sam’s ear. “Put you in my lap and rub us off together. Or maybe you want something to suck on. You want to suck my cock, baby boy?” 

Sam bucked his hips helplessly and came all over his hand and the gun. 

“Fuck, Sam,” Dean groaned, and Sam blinked himself back to consciousness in time to see Dean jerk and shoot onto the sheets. 

It took long, silent moments to collect themselves, filled only with the clank of the cheap radiator and the drumming of rain on the roof. The gun lay between them, badly needing to be cleaned again. Sam liked the way his come looked on it, pearly all over the ivory and gleaming nickel. 

Dean had his head down again, face turned away. Eventually, picked the gun up, using a corner of the bedspread to wipe it off. It was so familiar in his hands that it was almost an extension of his body, and Sam got a visceral urge to lick Dean’s fingers around the grip. 

When Dean lifted his head his jaw was set, eyes dark as he held up the gun between them, pointed at the ceiling. “From now on, I’m the only one who gets to touch you with this,” he said, wiggling the barrel for emphasis. With his other hand, he caught Sam’s chin in his fingers, making him look at Dean instead of the Colt. “My gun, my rules. You listening? I’m serious.” 

Sam gulped and nodded. 

“Good. I never, ever want to walk in on something like that again.” His grip on Sam’s face softened into a caress, fingers trailing down Sam’s neck so he shivered. The Colt hung by his side. “When you want it, you ask me for it, and I’ll give you what you need. Understood?” 

“Yes,” Sam managed, blood thrumming hot. 

“Good.” With the barrel of the gun Dean tipped Sam’s chin up, and Sam’s moan was lost between their lips as Dean leaned down and kissed him.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are love!  
> Follow me on my spn tumblr at [ nevergettingoverwincest](http://nevergettingoverwincest.tumblr.com)


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